


drabble collection

by shonn



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22168888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shonn/pseuds/shonn
Relationships: Abbey Bartlet/C. J. Cregg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Scissors

She wants a chance to shatter, to feel herself slipping into the million pieces she knows are inside of her.

Fractured.

Splintered.

Broken.

But, she struggles to remain intact for reasons her father taught her at a young age: You do what is right no matter how difficult and you fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

She wonders, as he is losing his own battle to stay whole, why he never applied his lessons to his professional life, if maybe he felt the effort wasn't worth it.

She wonders what is.

Given the chance, she would cut her world into easily manageable sections. She can see the scissors shaping and sculpting each little bit; she could throw away those parts she no longer needed or wanted, watch as they fell to the floor like the snow whitewashing the streets of D.C.

The metaphor stops her, if even as a passing thought, because she does not know what she would do with the president, this man she adores, this leader she serves, this husband she betrays.

Would she be selfless? Allow his existence for the betterment of the country? Or, would she slice him from history? Give into her desire for his wife?

On her good days, she knows the answer and is pleased with herself. On other days, she realizes the most devastating aspect of life is remaining true to a set of morals she did not choose for herself but from which she cannot escape.

She is bound, a prisoner to constraints she will resist but never sever, a complete being unable to separate, to fall, to erupt.

To mend.


	2. Confessions

Abbey confesses as they make love. "I am not proud," she repeats, the words her mantra even as she moans when C.J.'s tongue tickles her throat. C.J. feels the vibrations settling in her chest. Abbey's name is her only response, the taste bittersweet in her mouth.


	3. Liberty

C.J. takes liberties with Abbey, her hands disappearing under couture to glide across pale skin, cold fingers warmed by the heat radiating from that which remains hidden. She kisses Abbey's neck, leaving lipstick stains behind because she cannot leave other marks, her teeth skimming Abbey's throat until the older woman almost purrs in pleasure.

They barely speak, not here, not now. Only words like "don't" and "harder" and "more" matter when they are sharing this time together. This stolen time, taken from responsibilities, from vows, from family and friends. From him.

There is a freedom in this experience, a choice neither of them remembers making, but there is also a restraint, too many things they cannot do or say or believe. They have created for themselves a prison, their bars made stronger with each embezzled moment. The consequences are severe if they are caught.

But, they are already being punished. Guilt decrees its own form of justice, condemns them to a life sentence of memories based on a regret shared by all who are bound to a complicated system of fairness.


	4. Innuendo

The power of suggestion does not allow for questions. Once someone has that kind of control over you, you follow blindly, giving yourself over in the dim hope of fulfillment.

It's that thought that keeps plaguing C.J.

She uses words as substitutes, as a way to say to Abbey what she longs to say without damaging their personas.

Respect is really desire.

Admiration is really want.

Appreciate is really love.

She tells her assistant she is going to meet with the First Lady, but what she means is that she is going to fantasize.

She tells the president she has a high regard for the relationship he has with his wife, but what she means is that she envies it.

She tells herself she keeps her distance from Abbey for professional reasons, but what she means is that she is too weak to always fight temptation.

Everything she says has a sort of innuendo to it. With a tone of voice or a certain look, she can convey what she wants without disturbing the balance she has created between herself and her position.

In that, she regains control. In that, she implies exactly what she intends.


	5. Small Things

C.J. once had to straighten the First Lady's collar back before she was First Lady. It was a warm March afternoon in Idaho, and they had spent the day preparing for a speech involving politics and not just issues. Abbey was in jeans and a t-shirt ten minutes before show time because an intern had spilled water all over the perfectly manicured suit required at such events. In her haste to change once a new suit had been brought to her, the First Lady of New Hampshire had forgotten a detail: a crooked collar.

C.J. still longs to again feel Abbey's pulse point beating beneath her fingertips.


	6. What She Fears

Her desires are anomalous, not unimaginable, just peculiar. She thinks she must be reaching for the unusual to justify her inaction. If she can think of a fantasy too deviant, then she knows the objective of her longing would refuse her request and their relationship would not change. So, she becomes a martyr, believing as she does in their work, knowing all the while she could have what she wants. If she gave in, if she allowed the normal to creep into her late night thoughts, the world would crumple.

It is not rejection she fears but acceptance.


	7. Changes

C.J. was allowed space where the governor's wife was concerned. Abbey was the one to allow it, gave her permission to be herself instead of the future press secretary, wasn't always testing her or trying to shape her. C.J. felt guilty for doing her job while in Abbey's presence, calling her "Mrs." instead of "Dr.," positioning her as scenery instead of a centerpiece. C.J. felt even more shame when her eyes would refuse to concentrate on Jed Bartlet's features, when they would fail to waver from the darkly dressed trophy by his side.

It was not right she should desire what she had to change.


	8. Multiply

Returning from an event which C.J. is sure had a name, she marvels at how easily she can be two people. One is righteous, fights for the liberty she knows she deserves, for the respect everyone knows she's earned. The other is sinful, knows she would lose her loyalty to this man she has sworn to serve if his wife asked her to. How can she be just and deceitful in the same moment?

Normally, unless briefing the president, she would be in a different limo. Tonight, however, it was not the president's beckoning which placed her in this particular vehicle. A more powerful force drew her there. Even in the warmth of the car, C.J. can feel Abbey's heat. She tries to find balance in her breathing, tries not to smile too widely when the first lady chooses to drop her sword of equality and let the men discuss business while the women discuss their dresses, each set sitting side by side in the long, black tank rolling down the Washington streets. C.J. tries to stop her fingers from twitching as she pretends she does not want to touch the silk and satin and rosemary which is Abigail Bartlet, tries to tell herself the first lady would not create a ruse just to have her husband's press secretary sit next to her – not too close but close enough to tease.

Maybe she is more than goodness and wrath and intelligence C.J. thinks as they are exiting the car and Abbey stills, taking a moment too long to say goodbye. Maybe she does taste like wine, rich and bold, an offering of absolution.


End file.
